Ganges: Not so quiet, really

I wasn't going to mention any of this, and perhaps I still shouldn't, since it may just be tempting fate. But reading Mandy's assertions about the relative quiet of Ganges Harbour in light of the events of the last twenty-four hours, I'm having trouble keeping it to myself. And no, it's not about the seaplanes that take off right next to us twelve hours a day (quiet? maybe if you have fancy noise-canceling headphones!).

I wasn't going to post about it because I make plenty of mistakes myself and don't like to point out those made by others; they are generally honest mistakes, and it's not always clear who is making them depending on conditions, experience, and a multitude of other factors.

Nonetheless, we seem to have some sort of magnetic attraction that compels people to anchor uncomfortably close to us even in absolutely empty anchorages. A couple years ago in Laura Cove, we were entirely by ourselves, anchored out with scads of open space around us, when in the late afternoon some guy chugs in and calmly parallel parks right next to us, like it's Manhattan and he has just squeaked into the last space within twenty blocks. There were probably fifty other prime spots around the cove he might have picked, but no, the place he had to be was right there, where I was going to have trouble sleeping thinking about our respective swinging radii.

One thing to understand about the anchorage in Ganges is that it's huge... probably half a mile wide, nearly two miles long, around 5 fathoms deep throughout over a sticky mud bottom. There is hardly anywhere in here you couldn't pitch the hook over the side and have a safe, secure evening of rest. And this time of year, the place is practically empty... there may be twenty boats here in the main part of the harbour, half those on permanent moorings. There is a good bit of space left over, even quite close to town.

So it came as some surprise a couple days ago when a forty-something foot Catalina came and anchored within about two boat lengths to windward of us. The owner seemed to know that he was a bit closer than he needed to be... I happened to be on deck at the time, and he struck up a conversation, and mentioned that since he was on chain, and I was using rope, I would stretch well out away from him and there shouldn't be a problem. Now, to my understanding, that's actually a bad thing, because a lighter boat on a rope rode will swing around faster than a heavier one on chain, and cause problems where two boats with similar anchoring setups might not, but this guy looked like the Ancient Mariner and I figured, hey, what do I know? Even though using the same logic, if the wind shifted, wouldn't we be more likely to collide? Anyway, he was old, and I decided not to ask him to haul up and move... something I do very rarely, even though my anchoring comfort zone is much larger than many people's.

Anyway, to make a long story shore, Mandy got up to use the head last night around midnight, and heard a funny noise coming from the lifelines. That was his anchor roller tangling up in them. It was pretty calm out, so there was no loud smacking or anything, we had just drifted together after a light breeze shifted us around a bit. I got up, rapped on the hull, and woke everyone up. His wife was very apologetic, but I had trouble understanding the resolution they chose... instead of letting out more rode and drifting further astern (out of our swinging radius), they started the engine up and backed away. That got us all clear for the moment, but I couldn't see how it was going to prevent the problem from recurring. Still, the devil you know and all, so I again didn't specifically ask them to re-anchor further off, preferring they come to that conclusion themselves, which happened finally around three hours later. So, not much sleep for me. They pulled out this morning with no further drama.

Fast forward to dinner time. I'd been laying around, still very tired, on a settee reading a bit, and Mandy told me to get cracking and whip her up some ham and potatoes. I get up to do just that... and am amazed to see out the companionway another sailboat, this one on the other side of us, with our dinghy gently brushing up against his anchor chain. I hadn't even heard him come in.

So I bound up on deck, it's raining now, and check, and we're not even stretched all the way out on our rode. Any little breeze coming up from the south and we're definitely going to smack him. So I hail him and he comes up scratching his head... he had anchored when the wind was coming from the other direction, just as the guy in the Catalina had, only it had shifted sooner this time. He had imagined he was well away from us, but again, he was on all-chain and we, with our mostly rope rode, had shifted back much more quickly. He asked how much I had out, and I told him ninety feet... a respectable three-to-one, our typical ratio in the crowded anchorages up here, and about the minimum I feel comfortable with, considering how light rope is. I am sometimes embarrassed to have to reveal that I have four or five to one out when it is windy, feeling a bit selfish and over-protective considering the community norms up here.

So I asked how much chain he had out. One hundred and twenty five feet. Better than four to one, of chain. Suddenly I didn't feel so selfish with my wimpy lightweight rope and a measly three to one. He volunteered to haul some in and shorten his scope, which I agreed was perhaps a good first step. Considering my own predilections, shortening scope is not something I am comfortable openly encouraging among others; after all, if they start dragging, they may present a much more drastic problem for me than if we are just rubbing. Still... I think he's probably safe, considering the forecast for the next week doesn't call for anything stronger than fifteen knots.

Like the fellow last night, I didn't directly ask him to re-anchor, but let him come to the conclusion himself that we would all get a better evening's rest (which god knows I need at this point) if he picked up and dropped back over where he thought he was in the first place. Eventually, he did.

So, that's how quiet it is here right now, which doesn't seem all that quiet, considering this is the first time we've bumped with anyone at anchor this season (I did, actually, ask a fellow in False Creek with a fifty-foot tug to re-anchor after he dropped too close; it was way too big, and obviously way too close, and we certainly would have hit given the wind and current patterns there, but after some grumbling he did move along), and it's happened twice in less than twenty-four hours, in an otherwise mostly empty anchorage.

Good Call / Bad Call

Deciding to take two nights tied up at a marina with electricity, heat, and all the amenities easily available as a rainy storm system moves in over the area:

GOOD CALL

Taking a spot on the exterior of the southernmost dock, exposed to the full stretch of the harbour, as the southeasterly builds from that same rainy storm system:

BAD CALL

So, I am happy to be warm and dry and out of the rain, with no need to conserve electricity or fuel and all the diversions of a fully stocked town at my fingertips. I'm not so happy to be getting slammed up against the dock as the waves pound in from across the bay in fifteen or twenty knots of wind. I've got all our fenders out now and they're getting squashed flat. The guy with the boat moored astern of us is talking about pushing off (it's about 2130 right now) and going out to anchor in Mark Bay instead of staying here getting pushed around. Maybe I'm just jaded; we were on the float adjacent to Newcastle Channel last time we were here and got smacked about similarly by wakes and chop there, so this seems uncomfortable, but not unusual. Or maybe I'm optimistic; it's supposed to die down around midnight. Or maybe I'm pessimistic; getting off the windward side of the dock with vessels close in fore and aft would be no picnic, nor would be poking around looking for a protected spot in the dark in Mark Bay. That right there could take till midnight.

At any rate, it's just noisy and bouncy, nothing dangerous, and I was going to sleep in tomorrow anyway. Leaving the electric heater on all night so I don't have to get up and start the stove to warm up the cabin in the morning:

GOOD CALL

Getting the point across

I don't recall seeing this on the list of approved navigational signals.

Sailboaters moon Washington State Ferry

Frankly, professional mariners put up with enough guff from recreational sailors, who don't understand some of the limitations of larger craft or the rules involved or the nature of the business, as it is. This sort of thing is completely uncalled for, and probably just makes professional captains and crews that much less likely to extend any courtesy to any of the rest of us when they might have the option to do so.

Small victories

This morning we sailed off the anchor, something boats with no motor do every time they weigh anchor, be we have accomplished (or even attempted) only a handful of times in the past four years of semi-regular sailing. Albeit, the conditions were pretty good: there were no other boats exceedingly close to us, and the wind was from a mostly favorable direction while being neither to weak nor too strong, and the amount of rode out with the anchor wasn't excessive, meaning it could be pulled up rather quickly.

Scott has to do all the heavy lifting in circumstances like this. He must quickly raise the mainsail, then immediately shift to pulling up the anchor. My job is to listen to him beforehand about the technique we will use, then try my best to remember and follow the instructions at the helm once he is at the bow and we can no longer speak gracefully about matters.

The primary goal was to not end up on the rocks of the Chain Islands, about 200 feet to port. The secondary goal was to get out of Ganges Harbor without starting the engine (we had the batteries switched to the starter bank just in case we decided to ditch the endeavor and continue to meet the primary goal).

Both goals were met, I dare say, even with grace.

I liked Ganges. We were lucky enough to be there on a Saturday, too, and got the experience the VERY popular Farmer's Market.

Bering Sea crab boats

After digesting a day's worth of "Deadliest Catch" episodes, I am even more impressed with the crab boat captains and crews that work the Bering Sea waters. It's not so much the bravery (whether it is bravery, avarice, or stupidity actually seems to be a point much debated, and I'm not sure I have a position on the matter) that pushes them to work in those waters, but the subtle expertise they demonstrate in the difficult situations in which they find themselves. They may come off in many episodes as regular, working-class joes doing a tough job of an industrial variety, but in fact they are generally a bunch of savvy, intelligent, supremely capable individuals who happen to be doing traditionally blue collar work. It's a bit like astronauts out building new modules onto the International Space Station; they're turning wrenches, sure, but that doesn't imply they are simple grease monkeys.

As one of the captain's observed in an episode I saw today, "These guys up here are all the real deal." You don't stay employed, or alive, in that environment if you can't think as well as act.

Nothing reinforces this more for me than some other reality programs that have come out over the past couple of years in the hopes of duplicating the success "Dangerous Catch" has found. Discovery has one called "Lobstermen" that basically is the same show only covering fishing boats working the North Atlantic, and someone else had one about loggers working here in the Pacific Northwest.

Watching those just reaffirmed all the low opinions that us elitist snobs often have about folks in those professions; they tend to be the dregs, who can't get work doing much else, certainly not for any more money. They posture and then whine, make dumb mistakes and then walk off, and seem utterly incapable of addressing obstacles with the least bit of ingenuity or cleverness. I have trouble sitting through those shows. The drama is usually in the challenges that the crews face, but the challenges presented in those imitation shows either seem contrived or pathetic... obstacles that wouldn't slow, say, the Hillstrand boys down for more than five minutes, instead absorbing an entire episode as a gaggle of loggers stand around flummoxed.

In contrast, watching the crab boat crews reveals a bunch of guys who can navigate, weld, fix hydraulic systems, perform medical diagnosis and field surgery, rescue men overboard in twenty foot seas, SCUBA dive in icy waters, splice cable, clamber ashore from a wrecked boat using an improvised ladder of crab pots and safety rope of shot line, and perform a whole host of other mechanical and intellectual tasks that would strain the capabilities of professionals from any number of fields... in short, they exhibit the modern equivalence to the traditional abilities to "hand, reef, and steer" required of the able seaman in the age of sail.

I guess that's something that appeals to me about boating in general, though, the idea that if you keep putting yourself in that environment, you can pick up many of those diverse and useful skills. Of course, every summer here we see plenty of evidence that isn't universally the case, but at least the potential is there. And I'm constantly amazed, even here in the tame waters of Puget Sound, how many truly excellent skippers there are out there. They may be your dentist, a mechanic at Boeing, your local postal worker, or a software engineer in "real" life... but on the water, they have all the skills and poise of those iron men of yore sailing wooden ships. Watching from shore, few lubbers have any idea the depth of knowledge and expertise that can be involved in making those fluffy white things scud about on the placid waters, but the more I learn, the more impressed I am with the local sailing community. It's not the Bering Sea, but it's challenging enough!

Deadliest Catch Marathon

On Discovery Channel, all day today. Booyah! Thanksgiving Weekend marathon-watching at it's finest. Tomorrow is "Dirty Jobs" and I expect to remain fully occupied by that as well.